


Weapons to End a War

by sparklight



Series: Beginnings [2]
Category: Ancient Greek Religion & Lore
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:55:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24006982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparklight/pseuds/sparklight
Summary: Zeus and his siblings have freed the Hekatoncheires and the Cyclopes. The former will join their physical strength to the coming battle, but the latter have other gifts in return for their freedom.Of course all three young gods eye the lightning bolt, but not all weapons are for anyone to wield.
Series: Beginnings [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1930411
Kudos: 16





	Weapons to End a War

"We aren't the Hekatoncheires, to have strength alone to add to your war, but there are other things we can do to assure both our gratitude and assistance to victory," here Brontes paused, glancing down to Zeus where he walked beside him while Arges opened the door to the workshop the Cyclopes had commandeered for a couple days now, "for if we don't, the Titans may win and we will be thrown back from where we've only just been freed. You've afforded us hospitality and sustenance as well as freedom, so weapons to fit your hands and powers is our thanks and contribution to the war."

The air in the workshop was cool as the three sons of Kronos were let inside, though it hummed with new power, muted but wild. It coloured the air with a titanium sheen, made it taste strangely green as well as charged. The three young gods stopped in the middle of the open area, a long, low work table cutting the workshop space in half. On the heavy table there were three items laid out, though only two seemed to be obvious weapons; a helmet, a trident, and a collection of energy that rippled and sparked, barely contained around the thread of metal that was the apparent core of it. There were blackened spots burned into the wood around the item that seemed a little like the head of a spear with no shaft, or the twisted blade of a sword missing its hilt.

"Choose among them between you, sons of Kronos," Brontes said as he came up to lean his hip against the table, off to the side from where the three items were laid out, "if none of them fit one of you, we can make others, but it shouldn't come to that. And know any secondary attempts won't be as powerful."

Arges and Steropes passed the table and went deeper into the workshop, but mostly to leave enough space. They were tall and broad and took up a lot of the available room in the workshop, for the spaces on Olympos, while roomy, were more suited to the slighter, if still impressive, heights and builds of the younger generations. The three gods paused for a beat, furtive glances thrown at each other and then to the table and the three items on it. Zeus finally huffed and took a step forward, but Hades stepped past him, longer legs giving him a slight advantage.

"As I am the oldest."

Zeus scowled and crossed his arms over his chest but subsided. Refrained, just barely, from pointing out with snippy childishness that that was as true as it was not. Zeus might have been born last, but he'd lived in the world for longer than either of his five siblings, so really _he_ was the oldest one, if also the youngest. Zeus still eyed Hades' back with some annoyance as he stepped up to the table, then glanced sideways. Poseidon met his look with an arched smirk, sliding a foot slightly forward without stepping up to go over and shove Hades out of the way.

Fine. They could both go first if they thought that would avail them the better weapon.

Hades, meanwhile, considered the three treasures for a surprisingly long time, but even real, weighty consideration could not hide how his eyes repeatedly slid back to the leashed charge of the glowing energy, bound so precariously to its metal core. It was a weapon worthy of the oldest, surely. He had prior claim, and did not see that a lack of precise lived years would hinder him. So Hades reached for the bolt, closing his summer-tanned hand around it with confidence.

It hissed against his skin, writhed like a live snake, and a shock went through him.

A shock that didn't subside, but grew the longer he stood there, holding this weapon. Realizing as he did so what the Cyclopes had done. This was primordial, or as close as any weapon could come after the first generations of creation in the sphere had settled. This was a weapon of not just exemplary craftsmanship and show of skill to leash the powers of the world into a form that could be wielded, this was a weapon that would need to be _possessed_ as well as used and held. Not tamed, exactly, for it was raw power with no intent or will of its own, but it was not so straightforward a matter to keep it.

He could taste ichor in his mouth, and there was a buzzing in his ears. Hades' long, fine black hair floated about him, charged and overspilling. His skin felt tight.

He put the bolt down and let go of it.

The oldest (and youngest) of the brothers he may be, but their powers and essences took all sorts of forms. Perhaps if he'd lived more than ten years in the world he might have had better luck. Then again, perhaps not. As tempting as it was to claim the lightning for himself as his due, Hades could see it was not for him.

"What about this one?" Picking up the helmet after a bare, dismissive glance to the trident, Hades turned the smooth metal around in his hands. It had decorative, horizontally arranged curving lines running from top to bottom to suggest the earthly practice of using boar's tusk plates for helmets of suitable privilege, but was otherwise made of metal. Even the horns that thrust up from the front in graceful curve were of metal - in fact, the horns and the helmet were of a piece, no obvious seam or point of attachment anywhere. There was the spray of a plume too, a high, graceful curve of it, but both its base and the plume was all of metal, a shining singular construction that nonetheless didn't make the helmet as a whole particularly heavy. It felt smoother than just the polished metal could account for.

"It will render the wearer invisible even to others of our kind," Steropes said from where he was sharpening one side of a double-headed axe, pausing to thoughtfully run a large thumb down the shining edge, then setting back to his task.

"Hm." Another considering turn of the helmet in Hades’ hands. It did not thrust its power onto him. Barely left a hum against his skin where he was holding onto it, but that didn't mean it wasn't useful. Rendered invisible even to their own kind? Hades nodded. "I'll take it."

Stepping back with a nod to the three craftsmen, Hades didn't acknowledge Poseidon's dismissive, scoffing huff of a laugh and merely let him step past and up to the table, sliding back into place beside Zeus. The youngest - and oldest - brother tipped his head, glancing between the helmet in Hades' hands and Hades' face, nodding. Seeing more than Poseidon did, at least immediately. Poseidon wasn't stupid; he would end up seeing and understand the usefulness of something like this, that sometimes it wasn't just about immediate power but how one used it.

For now, though, Poseidon was as interested in the lightning bolt as Hades had been, though he did run a considering finger down part of the trident's shaft, lips pursing past his short, new growth of beard. It thrummed under his fingers, shifting, not still. But it was not the raw power suggested by the leashed energy, and Poseidon was sure he could possess it. That Hades hadn't been able to, despite being the oldest of the three of them, Poseidon could have told him before he tried; he was too contained for something like this, too subdued and bound to structure. The energy had none, and would thus need to be wielded in spite of that. With a confident grin, Poseidon took hold of it.

Touching the trident first had prepared him, though Poseidon wouldn't admit that.

The leashed lightning, just barely held together as it was, slammed into his essence and filled him up, spilled out. Sparks danced between his fingertips, but it didn't hurt. The whole of him practically _hummed_ , alive and numb at the same time.

"Try throwing it."

Which of the Cyclopes who said that, or if it was Zeus even, Poseidon wasn't sure. The words came across loud and clear, but the tone, the pitch, any- and everything but the meaning disappeared in the background. He was too focused on the lightning bolt for anything else. He could hold this weapon, yes. He could even lift it, and he did so, weighing it slightly back and forth as he shifted on his feet, but he knew, had to admit, that if he tossed it he was done. He wouldn't be able to grab hold of it again, and this was clearly a throwing weapon. He _could_ keep it. Could use it as a dagger, perhaps, though that wouldn't allow it its full power. Teeth gritted, Poseidon almost stepped away from the table with the bolt still in hand, but, finally, dropped it down, not snatching his hand away from the chasing sparks by pure stubborn determination and pride. His hand was red, the skin tight and aching, and he could hear Zeus sniggering quietly behind him. Ignoring that, Poseidon squared his shoulders and took hold of the trident instead.

It wasn't as raw as the leashed lightning, but despite appearances it wasn't exactly subtle, either. He just couldn't figure out what it would do, aside from being an unbreakable and useful weapon that could be used in several manners of fighting.

"And this?"

"It will give you what you need, strengthening your own power," Brontes said, a heavy, considering look to Poseidon's bent head. If he thought Poseidon either wouldn't appreciate the finer meaning in that, or the usefulness of it, he might have been right. The thing was also, however, that the young god heard the other half of the meaning in that statement; the trident would show the world how powerful Poseidon himself was. Him, alone, and no outside force. He liked that. Grinning with growing pleasure, Poseidon nodded and straightened up. Tightened his grip on the shivering power within the trident, felt it slowly align with his, like a double heartbeat following a single rhythm. Yes, he liked this, though it might not be the overflowing power of the lightning bolt.

"Perfect." Stepping away from the table, Poseidon and Zeus' locked gazes, and Poseidon's grin widened, bright blue eyes filled with an edged light. "You're going to look ridiculous if you get tossed across the room."

Zeus rolled his eyes and stepped past his brother, up to the table. There was no hesitation as he grabbed hold of the lightning, but when there was nothing else left on the table but the charged energy wrapped around the core of gold and titanium, what was there to hesitate about? It was this or something far lesser, and Zeus would not accept _lesser_.

The lightning in his hand was not subtle, no. 

Nature was seldom subtle when it unleashed its fury or bloomed out in creative force in spring, however. Nature was overflowing even when it seemed to be nothing but soft, flowering gentleness, and Zeus was steeped in it. He'd grown with the rhythm of the world, had died and lived with it for nearly two decades. Maybe not long in the terms of how they, as blessed gods, lived, but it was long enough. Perhaps his brothers would have had a greater chance to wield this bolt if they'd had the chance to live like he had, but even similar lived experiences would not necessarily afford them similar chance. The lightning was raw power, unbound and overwhelming, free and irrepressible; unsubtle, but to use it to its full potential, it would need to be mastered. Much like the forces of the gods rebelling against Kronos needed to be mastered to display their full potential, to win against their enemies.

Zeus, too, wasn't subtle; he overflowed, always had, and the lightning poured into him, followed channels already there, and found the banks too high. 

Sparks danced around his fingers, up along his arms, fizzled among his flowing hair and settled around his head. A crown for a king without a kingdom yet to rule, for while he was leading a people they had not yet any place to settle and call their own; Olympos was a fortified necessity, not a base of power to attach a sphere to, for that sphere was still in Kronos' hands. Zeus rose in the air, full and charged and laughing. The bright, rolling noise spilling around him, Zeus zipped out of the workshop with a trail of sparks behind him, static electricity charging the heavy bronze doors as he flung them open with power alone. Outside, high above the workshop's rounded roof, he lifted his arm, lifted the lightning, and threw it across the sky.

Dark.

Light.

Aether and sky both trembled as the lightning struck out, branching wide enough to cover half the blue glowing dome, ringing with the power of the lightning strike and accompanied by a rolling roar of thunder, shaking the ground below.

Zeus, wild-eyed and bare-cheeked, his hair a dark, floating halo around him and with a sharp grin on his face as he caught the lightning, soaking up the impact and power both as it settled in his hand again, tipped his head back.

"Father! This war ends now!"

A challenge. A warning. A proclamation of truth carrying the weight of prophecy, for Zeus and his siblings had freed the Hekatoncheires and the Cyclopes with them, had sheltered them and given them sustenance, and they had added their own strength, by hand and skill, to the forces gathered around Zeus' rebellion.

It was over.


End file.
